Fight The Good Fight
by tlgirl
Summary: Max's thoughts and POV post Freak Nation. She locks herself up in a room and struggles to fight with inner-demons. (M/A)
1. Valor

**"Fight The Good Fight"**  
by: **tlgirl**

  
  


_Chapter 1 - Valor_

  
  
**Rating**: PG-13 for language  
**Category**: M/A shipperness (eventually), but it has a lot of Max  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dark Angel . . . don't sue me . . . blah blah blah.  
**Summary**: Max's thoughts and POV post Freak Nation. Forget the Logan-and-Max- latex-gloves-hand-holding-thing. It never happened. Now it's just Max, Alec and the other transgenic in Terminal City. In the beginning of the fic, Max locks herself up in one of the rooms and hasn't come out for days.  
**Note**: If it doesn't seem coherent, I apologize. In reality, no one has a coherent stream of thought, I'm trying to make this fic somewhat realistic. If it seems like my writing is random and you don't understand what's happening, please tell me. I'll try my best to make myself clear.  
**Feedback**: Please send feedback. I read and appreciate every piece of feedback that I get. I don't care if it's a simple "good job" or "you suck" just tell me what you think. Thanks.  
  


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**val·or**  
  
_n._  
  
_Courage and boldness, as in battle; bravery._  
  
  
  
It's been a week. A week since my whole world has crashed right on top of my head. How could this all have happened just seven days ago? I sent Sketchy, OC, and Logan away. They're not "freaks" like us. They don't belong in this hellhole. I don't think I can stand it if their blood was stained on my hands. We found a way to smuggle them out of Terminal City and I was given word that they got out safely.  
  
I've lost everything. A week ago. Seven Days.  
  
What is there to fight for now? There must be hundreds of police officers outside the city boundaries just waiting for their chance to come in here and slaughter us. Kill the freaks God never intended to create. But they don't understand that we were man-made, just like evil. And because we don't look "normal", they won't take responsibility. "They" as in the normal people.  
  
Funny thing human nature is. One would think that our species would learn from history, learn from our mistakes. As the past has shown us though, we repeat our mistakes every time. The same problem might come back in a different form, in a different circumstance but ultimately, it's the same mistake. Want examples? Slavery. The Crusades. The Holocaust. Terrorism.  
  
I never asked to be "the one." Just because I have these weird tattoos appearing all over my body doesn't mean that I'll save the human race. It doesn't mean anything. I'm just so scared. So scared that I'm going to fail.  
  
For years I have lived a semi-normal life, whatever normal means anyway. But for my kind, the transgenic, I was able to hold a job, I had a place of my own, and I found true friends. Minus the midnight cat burglaries and the destroying of Manticore, by this society's standards, my life was pretty normal. That's more than a lot of the people here can say. So I consider myself lucky.  
  
I snap out of my meditative trance as a figure behind me approaches. I don't have to turn around; I know who the person is. It's Alec. I could smell him from across the room. Not that Alec smells bad, for getting shot and running around and kicking White and his men's butts all week, he smells pretty damn good. I can't quite put my finger on it. Alec smells like sweat and something else that is . . . uniquely Alec.  
  
Anyway, "What do you want dickhead?" I ask as I acknowledge his presence.  
  
I expect the usual smartass comment, but Alec surprises me when he says, "I'm sorry, Max."  
  
I quickly spin around. Did Alec actually fall off his high horse and apologize or was it just a figment of my imagination? I look into his eyes and I see sincerity and truth. It's the only hint of hope that I've seen in the past few days.  
  
"For what? You didn't do anything."  
  
"For everything." he says as I look away, his piercing stare is making me uneasy, "Max I know you don't want to hear this but I'm going to say it anyway. Shit happens! You can't just lock yourself up in this room after you made the whole speech about fighting for our rights and lives! You can't just be a leader only when you want to. It's a full-time job and you're on call all day, all night, 24/7. I understand how scared you must feel, Max. You must be scared as hell. But you started this thing, go out there and end it."  
  
I just stand there like a fool, glued to my position. A tear falls down my cheek as I begin to take in Alec's words. As much as I don't want to admit it, he's right.  
  
After a silence that seems like forever, he gently puts his hand on my shoulder.  
  
"Get away from me Alec!" I lash out vehemently. I can't accept his logic. Not yet at least.  
  
He understands that I need to be alone right now. And with a small sigh, Alec leaves the room and softly closes the door behind him. Leaving me with my thoughts. Leaving me with my fears.  
  
  


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TBC


	2. Vagary

**"Fight The Good Fight"**  
by: **tlgirl**

  
  


_Chapter 2 - Vagary_

  
  
**Rating**: R  
**Category**: M/A shipperness (eventually), but it has a lot of Max  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dark Angel . . . don't sue me . . . blah blah blah.  
**Summary**: Max's thoughts and POV post Freak Nation. Forget the Logan-and-Max- latex-gloves-hand-holding-thing. It never happened. Now it's just Max, Alec and the other transgenic in Terminal City. In the beginning of the fic, Max locks herself up in one of the rooms and hasn't come out for days.  
**Note**: I changed the rating for this chapter because of a sex scene. It's not too graphic, I wouldn't exactly call it smut. I didn't plan on writing that scene but it just sort of fit in the story. It's my first attempt to semi-smut so go easy on me.  
**Note #2**: As you know Dark Angel has been cancelled. This is just my small contribution to help keep the show alive in our hearts and in our fiction.  
  


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**va·ga·ry**  
  
_n._  
  
_a sudden desire._  
  
  
  
It took me a while to wipe away my tears and pick myself up.  
  
_Step._  
  
Then something clicked inside of me. Like some sense was knocked into me. What the hell was I doing in this stupid room? Why wasn't I outside helping? I felt so guilty, I was the one who got them into this shit and after that, I completely turned my back against them. I allowed my fears to take over me. Not that it's an excuse. Fear should not have gotten in the way of my duties, my responsibilities.  
  
_Step._  
  
When Logan, O.C. and Sketchy left Terminal City, I felt ashamed of my own kind. They stood for everything I wanted, everything I couldn't have: love, friendship, and a normal life. And instead of fighting to get back the things I once had, I sat there and felt sorry for myself. I buried my head in my hands and I wept. I never liked to cry. At Manticore, they taught that tears were a sign of weakness, a sign of the humanity inside of us. But after everything, it seemed like the only thing left to do and I let them flow freely.  
  
_Step._  
  
I opened the door, bracing myself for the now unfamiliar sunlight, but I was surprised to find the moonlight greet me at the other side of the door. All sense of time had become lost to me. I wandered in between the buildings, trying not to let myself think. Trying to clear my haunting thoughts.  
  
_Step._  
  
Before I realized where I was, I knocked softly on the beaten and weather-worn door in front of me.  
  
_Step._  
  
He opened the door, a look of shock evident on his face when he realized who his visitor was. A surge of desire ran through me. "Max . . ." he began to say, but I lunged toward him and lay sloppy and violent kisses on his lips. He doesn't resist my advances. On the contrary, he welcomes them and deepens the kisses. I open my mouth inviting him in. I gasp as I take in my first taste of him. Hands begin to roam freely, tearing off the clothing coming between skin to skin contact. Months of sexual tension has finally boiled up to this meeting. We find our way to the bed and an awkward position is found.  
  
_Thrust._  
  
Two become one.  
  
_Thrust._  
  
Pleasure overwhelms my senses.  
  
_Thrust._  
  
Passion and fire rushes through my veins.  
  
_Thrust._  
  
Before he pushes me over the edge, I call out his name, "Alec . . ."  
  
  


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TBC


End file.
